Sorry for the long post FJ, but I need to get something off my chest, and as sad/depressing/beta as it is, FJ is the best place I know to let it out.
About 4 years ago, when I was 15, I was in a bad place.I won't go into detail but I will say that I was depressed, suicidal and paranoid. Paranoid enough that I had spent more time home from school "sick" than I spent in school because I was terrified of people. Freshman year (when I was 15) I was in school a total of about 2 weeks, and half of those days I left after first period. I lost contact with all my friends, I heard my mom cry every night because of where my life was going and my dad would scream in my face to get my **** together. So one day I decided enough was enough, and I got help.
My therapist suggested I get into group therapy at a place called Princeton House, when I got there they decided to put me into a PHP program (partial hospitalization), where I would be in therapy for 4 hours a day and 2 hours a day in a school-like setting. After a few days of that my family's health insurance company decided I didn't need therapy and refused to pay for any further treatment. The staff at Princeton House pulled some strings and got my insurance to pay for a lower level of treatment, that the staff believed would still help me, and it did. I was placed into IOP (intensive out-patient) therapy for the next two months, and spent 3 hours a day 3 days a week in therapy.
During these two months I met several kids my age in similar situations, and some in situations much MUCH worse. These people became my friends, they helped me, supported me, encouraged me, and saved my life.
One of the rules of this facility was that we were not to contact anyone else in the facility out side of therapy, while we were being treated there. For the most part I was O.K. with this, and still made some connections out of therapy when people would get discharged. But there was one girl I didn't have the courage to talk to, she was the nicest person there and she was beautiful, and she treated me better than anyone, even my own family.
After my two months, I was discharged. I still hadn't talked to this girl (other than when she talked to me), and all I had to remember her was a small piece of paper with an "iceberg" dipicting who I really was below the surface.
Four years later here I am, an early high school graduate with honors, an eagle scout and I'm not affraid of much of anything.(continued in comments)